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Sometimes the ticking is comforting. Sometimes it burns a hole in my brain. But it is a constant, it is always there no matter what happens. No matter how much life change. How much I change.
Laying on the ripped leather couch underneath the old wooden clock, listening as my mother argues with my grandfather in the other room. Their voices echoing around the corner and right into my ears. My grandfather raising his voice, blasting insults at my mother. My mother sobbing and wailing, then screaming for him to get out. The slamming of the door when he does, not without smashing the vase by the door on his way out. A vase that once belonged to my grandmother before she passed. The sound of the clock my only comfort as my mother retreats to her room to cry. The clock covering up the sounds of her distress.
Sitting tense on the same leather couch, light dim in front of me as the silence stares back. The incessant ticking boring into my skull as I wait, and wait. My mother said she would have been home by now, each second passing increases the chance that something has happened. The darkness creeping at my from around the corner, closing in, trapping me next to the light. So tense I don’t hear the door unlock or footsteps enter the apartment. I scream as someone touches my shoulder. The hand recoils and I turn my head to see my mother. I jump up and I hug her, leaving the clock behind.
Sitting on the ground underneath the clock, back against the wall. Couch no longer here as my mother insisted we needed a new one, she hasn’t gotten one yet. Tears falling down my face, a waterfall that will not stop. My mind a slideshow of all the memories, the good and the bad. Of friends who are leaving, friends who I won't see again. People who helped me as time passed, sneaking notes when the teacher wasn’t looking, daring each other to jump off the playground until the teachers banned us from the playground. Times where we used to pull silly to make each other laugh when we were sad. The thoughts won't stop, I don’t want to cry, I don’t want to grieve them when they are still here. The clock breaks the trains of thought. The ticking piercing through the pain. Leaving my calmer, staring out the window, face still wet with tears but no more falling.
Laying, blanket covering me on the near grey couch my mother bought. Clock still ticking above me. Television on across the room, my mother sat at the other end of the couch staring at it. A storm tore through a nearby city yesterday, no news has made it out yet. My father works in that city, he can't always come home after work so he was there when the storm hit. The news broadcast starts in ten minutes. Ten minutes too long. The ticking above me, dragging every second out, another second where I don’t get to know anything about my father. Another second where I see my mother trying to hold back the tears she's been holding back since we heard about the storm. The screen changes in front of us, the music plays to signal the start of the news. The clock fading into the back of my mind.
The clock still ticks above my head as I sit on the couch, my mother pacing in front of me. Unable to sit down without immediately jumping back up. My father should be coming home to today, at least that’s what he said on the 20 second phone call. The longest we could get the connection to go through, we don’t know if he got hurt, not until we see him. The door opens, and my mother runs. I hear sobbing around the corner as she pulls my father into the living room while hugging him. He has tears on his face as well, and I barely notice when I join them. He pulls my mother down onto the couch at wraps us both in a hug. A hug that nothing could break. I become aware of the clock, the sound calming, time may be passing but at least everything is okay. The seconds tick by and nobody moves. Precious seconds of our day taken up by an action we will remember forever.
I sit on the ground underneath the wooden clock, it's been years since I sat here, I'm surprised it still works. I simply breath listening to the ticking as a tear rolls down my cheek. It's been a long time since I sat here with my parents arms around me. So long I have children of my own now. The clock reminds me of them, the time I spent in this room with them. Time well spent, seeing as I can't do that now. My daughter runs into the room, looks at me before pulling me into a hug. I let her for a moment before I pull back and smile at her.
"You see this clock dear." I say softly, "This clock is the only thing that has always been here, the one thing I always remember. I used to sit under it Grandma and Grandpa, lots of laughter but also tears. That clock watched me grow up." I stand up, pulling my daughter off the floor with me, "I think it needs a new home now, don’t you think?" I pass the clock to my daughter with a cautious look and she immediately hugs it to her chest. "Can we put it in our living room?" She asks, "It's pretty."
"I think we can do that."